


The Monkey's Paw

by jakia



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M, Post-Campaign, Time Travel, actually rather wholesome, caleb adventuring in AU land: the fic, not actually as dark as the title implies, wibbly-wobbly-timey-wimey AU shenanigans
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-03-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:00:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23233642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jakia/pseuds/jakia
Summary: Once Caleb has finished saving the world, Essek finds a way to give Caleb what he's always wanted: a simple life, with his living parents. But the problem with getting what you've always wanted is that sometimes you learn the hard way that what you thought you wanted and what you *really* want are two separate things.[Shadowgast, where post-campaign, Essek sends Caleb to a different timeline where he's a farmer, not a wizard]
Relationships: Astrid/Bren Aldric Ermendrud, Essek Thelyss/Caleb Widogast, Leofric Ermendrud & Caleb Widogast, The Mighty Nein & Caleb Widogast, Una Ermendrud & Caleb Widogast
Comments: 17
Kudos: 147





	The Monkey's Paw

“I have a gift for you,” Essek says, drawing him away from the group.

They are at a celebration; it is large and fancy, a combined effort from the Empire and the Dynasty and the Menagerie Coast, and it is for  _ them _ , the Mighty Nein, heroes of Wildemont, as strange and fascinating as their reality is at the moment. Tharizdun has been defeated; the Chained Oblivion is no longer a threat. Peace between the three countries of Wildemont has been achieved, and with their power and influence, there is very little the Mighty Nein could want, now.

Still, a gift? And for Caleb alone, too--

He knows what he hopes it is; a kiss, a declaration of love. He’s spent the past year and a half pining for his drow traitor-turned-ally-turned-friend, but he has yet to have the courage nor the time to confess his feelings. Quite frankly, he’s hoping a little bit that Essek does the work for him, and confesses first; he’s fairly certain the drow feels the same way, and hasn’t said anything for similar reasons.

Still, Caleb allows himself to be dragged away from the celebration, upstairs to a quiet room with Essek, alone.

“It’s a spell,” Essek says, his voice low and soft. There is a twinkle in his eyes, and Caleb isn’t quite sure if Essek is about to cry, or if he’s up to some mischief, or both. It’s hard to tell, because there’s a clever grin on his face, but his eyes are wet. “I’ve been working on it for--quite a while, actually.”

“And you didn’t want my help?” Caleb asks, pretending to be hurt, hand against his heart.

“Not for this. Not for a gift for you,” He places a gentle kiss on Caleb’s forehead, a mirror of how Caleb kissed him, so long ago, and then places a black diamond against Caleb’s forehead, in the same place where he kissed him seconds ago. The diamond floats against Caleb’s forehead, even as Essek kneels and begins drawing on the floor. “I did need a little help, though. Yussa helped. So did Jester and Caduceus, actually, for a little bit of it.”

He is  _ casting something. _ “Wait a moment. What are you--?” 

“--Then, once I figured out the mechanics of it, finding the right timeline to jump to was difficult. You don’t live uncomplicated lives much, do you? But I figured it out eventually, and I--oh, step here, please--”

Caleb does so, and the world  _ whooshes  _ around him, black stars and red strings, and he feels dizzy and nauseated, and--

Essek is still talking. “--The dizziness will fade soon, and then the memories will start flooding in, but don’t worry, the diamond will let you keep things straight--learned that trick the  _ hard  _ way, let me tell you. And--” he stops, takes a look at his surroundings, and stands again from where he had been kneeling at Caleb’s feet. “We’re here.”

_ “Where is here?” _ Caleb asks, slightly frantic. When he looks down, he realizes he’s wearing a different outfit than he was before, and so is Essek, for that matter.

He’s wearing his Shadowhand mantle, actually, and that’s almost more frightening than anything, given that it’s been more than a year since he resigned. He notices suddenly that there is a scar over Essek’s eye that wasn’t there before. 

They are in a room--a small bedroom, it looks like--with a long mirror, and a bed. There’s a handmade quilt on the bed that reminds Caleb of the kind he used to have back in Blumenthal, homemade and handspun. He looks like something his mother could have made, and the thought gives him pause. He leans down and touches the quilt, and it’s soft to the touch, though the material it’s made out of is cheap. He likes the color, though. He’s always liked blues and reds.

The outfit Caleb is wearing is strangely formal, too, though cheaper than what he was wearing previously, and intensely Zemnian. He thinks he’s seen his father wearing something like it, when he had to travel outside of the village, but it’s different. A little more modern. He hasn’t seen anyone wear anything quite like it in some time.

But the mirror is what’s bothering him the most, because his reflection no longer looks like himself.

Or rather: he looks like  _ Bren _ . There are less lines on his face, his hair is shorter, with less scars on his body, and scars in different places. There are calluses on his hands from…farmwork? He thinks, unsure of how he knows that, and there is a bruise on his knee from where he got kicked from a cow last week, and--

“That’s a complicated question to answer,” Essek says coyly, playing with the collar on Caleb’s jacket and straightening it. “The Zemni Fields, I believe. Blumenthal, I think, is the village name? But a better question,” Essek grins, his fangs pointed and sharp. “Is  _ when?” _

Holy  _ fuck. _ “Essek--”

“Your parents,” Essek explains, not giving him time to respond, much less  _ process _ . “Are alive. In this timeline, you never went to the Academy. In fact, Trent Ikithon no longer exists in this timeline, because here he got caught abusing children and now spends his days rotting in jail for the rest of his miserable life.”

Holy shit. Holy fuck.  _ Holy _ \--

But he can’t speak right now, can barely  _ breathe  _ right now, he’s so close to having a panic attack.

“How?  _ How _ ? Essek, what have you  _ done? _ ” He finally manages to gasp out, holding his chest tightly.

“I have given you what you’ve always wanted,” Essek explains, and oh, he is crying, now, those are certainly tears in his eyes. “ _ Peace. _ And atonement,” He kisses Caleb sweetly on the cheek. "You offered me redemption, once, when I didn't deserve it. Let me offer you the same, now. A chance to have everything you've ever wanted, because if anyone in this universe deserves a happy ending, Caleb, it's _you_."

Caleb sits on the bed, because standing feels like an impossible task right now. 

Essek kneels before him, placing his hands on his knees. “I can’t stay long; the longer the other Essek is missing, the bigger chance everything has to fuck up royally. And your memories of this time will come soon, if they aren’t here already,” He runs his hand against Caleb’s cheek, and  _ oh _ , Caleb is crying, too, he didn’t realize. “Your wife and children are beautiful, by the way.”

He blinks back tears, confusion overwhelming him. “Essek--”

“I hope,” Essek continues. “That you will allow me one last little indulgence, just for my sake. A goodbye gift, if you will. Something to remember me by.”

Essek kisses him then, deeply and passionately, the thing Caleb wanted so much, earlier, and then it is over, and he’s pulled away again.

“Be  _ happy _ , Caleb Widogast,” Essek wishes him, and then he’s gone.

* * *

Caleb could not tell you how long he sat on that bed for. Time had become a blur, a thing of theory and not of reality. Inside his head was a jumbled mess of conflicting memories: one moment, he was Caleb Widogast, arcanist of the Mighty Nein; the next he was Bren Ermendred, farmer of Blumenthal who barely knew how to read but had a keen mind regardless.

He must be there for a long time, longer than he intends, because there is a gentle knock on his door. “Bren?” his mother’s voice calls from outside the door in familiar Zemnian. “Honey? You decent?”

Bren saw his mother less than an hour ago;  _ Caleb _ , however--

He hasn’t heard her voice in over a decade. He blinks back tears slowly. “ _ Mutti _ ,” he whispers to himself.

The door opens and in sneaks his mother, older than he ever knew her. There’s gray streaked in her long red hair, and there are lines on her face that never had time to appear, before.

“I just wanted to let you know, Milo’s fever broke. I don’t think you’ll need to travel to Rexxentrum after--Bren?” his mother blinks at him, fully in the room now, noticing his tears. “Is everything alright?”

He cries.

More accurately, he  _ sobs _ , worse than a little baby, in a way he hasn’t cried in  _ years _ . He falls to his knees and clutches to his mother’s skirts and cries in a way he hasn’t since he was a little boy with a scraped knee. The Bren in his head finds his behavior embarrassing, but Caleb doesn’t  _ care _ .

He’s _missed_ her.

His mother, bless her, doesn’t say anything, although he can tell she’s baffled by his behavior. Instead she just holds him and lets him cry.

When he finally manages to get it together, his mother brushes his hair out of his eyes. “Bren, what is that about? I know you were worried about Milo but he’s fine, I promise. Astrid’s been with him all night, and--”

“I have missed you  _ so much _ ,” Caleb says quietly. “I have so much to tell you.”

“You saw me an hour ago,” his mother says, concerned. Gently she sits on the bed, and pats beside her for Caleb to sit next to her. He does as she asks, and immediately she presses the back of her hand against his forehead, and then his cheek. “Are you sick as well? You don’t feel feverish, and yet--”

He holds her hand to his cheek. “I do not know that you would believe me if I told you.” He breathes deeply, and tries to find a calm within him. What Essek has done is the impossible, and yet his mother is right in front of him, alive and well once again. He’s had his memories messed with before, but this feels  _ real _ , and raw, and  _ everything. _

This is the greatest gift anyone could have ever given him.

The memories in his head twinge at him slightly, concern for someone he’s never met etching in his skin like a forgotten scar he longs to scratch. “You said Milo’s fever broke?”

His mother looks slightly relieved at his question and the normalcy of it. “Yes. He’s not a hundred percent better just yet, but he’s on the recovery,” she smiles at him softly. “Your son will live, it seems.”

_ That’s right _ , he thinks, blinking slowly.  _ I have a son. _

Or rather, Bren has a son. One that is Caleb’s now.

Bren has  _ two  _ sons, Caleb thinks, amused. Johann and Milo.

“Can I see him?” Caleb asks anxiously. He has Bren’s memories of the boys in his head, of course, but  _ seeing _ them is a different thing entirely. “Do you think it’s safe?”

“Oh, you can see him, sure,” his mother brushes off his concern, eyeing him like a hawk. He’s forgotten how clever she can be. “Soon as you explain what all  _ that _ was about, I’ll take you to him.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Caleb lies, oh, and it’s so terribly easy to lie to his mother. He should be ashamed of himself. 

“I thought someone had  _ died _ , Bren!” His mother smacks his shoulders. “And now you are acting as if everything is perfectly normal, and all is right in the world!”

But all  _ is  _ right in the world, he wants to tell her. For the first time in a long time, his life is as it should be: his parents are alive. He has a beautiful wife, two healthy sons. A farm to run. There are no dragons chasing him, no undead to fight. His friends, presumably, are out there somewhere, safe and sound.

He will miss them, he thinks. But they will be fine. His family needs him more, now.

He kisses his mutti on the cheek. “I will tell you later,” he lies, because he does not think he will, really. “Come on. I want to see Milo.”

* * *

This is the life of Bren Aldric Ermendred:

He gets up before sunrise. He has a routine: he dresses, drinks coffee, kisses Astrid’s forehead to wake her, and checks on the boys. Then it’s to the fields outside, where his routine continues methodically. He moves like a machine as he feeds the cows, waters the plants, and does what needs doing on the farm. 

It would be easier with magic, of course, but he doesn’t have magic here. A wizard is nothing without a spellbook; his didn't survive the journey across time, and while Caleb knows a few cantrips by heart they wouldn’t help much here.

After a little bit, a groggy Johann and exuberant Milo come out to help. Johann is 12 and scrawny and looks like a boyish Astrid, but with Bren's nose and knobby knees. Milo is nine and looks like exactly like a young Bren all over again, but his eyes are dark like his mother’s.

Inside, Astrid cooks breakfast, and calls for them when it’s ready.

They eat a hearty meal, and then the boys are off to school, and it’s back out to the field for Caleb. It’s hard work, the life of a farmer.

Sometimes, his father comes out and helps him. But Leofric is getting old--his back is sore, and his beard is mostly gray, so Caleb doesn’t let him help too much. His father’s life is too precious to waste working on a farm, not since Caleb’s managed to get him back, impossibly. 

He considers hiring a few of the stronger boys in town to help, but coin is difficult to come by, and one bad harvest would be all it would take to ruin him.

He knows; he’s already done the math already, several times. Or rather, he’s double-checked Bren’s math. Bren’s _always_ been clever, even if he has lacked the opportunities Caleb had, but Caleb’s doppleganger had been right on that part. The financial fragility of Bren’s life is foreign and strange; Caleb’s had enough money for a while now that he’s not had to want for anything, really.

A part of him wonders if he could take to the woods and fight some creatures, earn a bit of coin that way, but without his spellbook--

Well. It wouldn’t work, anyway.

So the first week in this new life, he adjusts. He talks with his parents, enjoys hearing the sound of their voices again. He loves and kisses his wife, as often as he can--in this life, neither he nor Astrid went to Soltryce Academy, and it was that opportunity lost that led them to each other and the life they share now. He spoils his boys as much as he can; he impulsively buys them both new toys, not really noticing how much it costs. He justifies the cost to his wife by saying they would have spent the same amount on medicine, had Milo not gotten better.

The second week is...more difficult.

It’s hard work, farming. And it doesn’t leave much time for academic pursuits. Not that he has anyone to discuss academia with here in Blumenthal; Astrid is smarter than he is, but in this life she is a farmer’s wife and just as poorly educated as Bren is; she does not wax philosophically about the origin of Exandria’s two moons and the impact it might have on spells, nor does she wonder about the politics and power and who should have it and who deserves it.

He...misses Essek.

Which makes sense. A week ago, he was in love with him, and too afraid to say anything about it. Now Essek might as well not exist in Bren’s world.

Now  _ Caleb _ doesn’t exist in Bren's world, technically.

The third week, he finds he has a craving for pastries with cinnamon in them, cinnamon he can only get in Nicodranas, that Bren has (technically) never tried before. 

There’s a lake not far from where he lives, where he goes and dips his feet in, and thinks, in equal measures, about both the sea and a halfling who’s afraid of water. 

There are pink flowers in his mother’s garden that remind him of a certain firbolg’s hair and a certain aasimar’s collection. 

One day that week, Milo comes home with a bruise he got fighting with another boy at recess, and all Caleb can think is  _ your aunt Beau should teach you to punch better. _

But Milo does not have an Aunt Beau, and he never will, and Caleb is beyond upset at the thought. 

So upset that he goes out to the barn, and punches a hole through the wall, and cries, irrational in his overwhelming grief.

He  _ misses  _ them so much.

He--he spent so long, wanting this. Wanting this life he has now, with the farm and the kids and his parents. He thought this was what he wanted, but now?

Everything reminds him of  _ them _ . Of the life he came from. 

Astrid wears a purple ribbon in her hair one day that reminds him of the color of Essek’s skin. There’s a snowglobe on their living room mantle that reminds him--in shape and size--of the orb Fjord used to carry. His mother comes over for tea and he cannot hardly boil the water without missing Caduceus with all his being. Johann gives him attitude about something ridiculous, because he’s  _ twelve _ , and all Caleb can think of is Beauregard. Milo pulls off a silly little prank on his mother, and Caleb thinks of Jester fondly. Astrid sews new buttons on the boy’s coats and Caleb pockets a few, thinking of Veth. He’s in the fields, tilling, when he sees flowers that he instinctively picks to give to Yasha before remembering.

There are three kittens in his household, and _ not one of them _ is Frumpkin.

* * *

His family confronts him, of course. They are all bright and intelligent people, far smarter than their humble backgrounds give them credit for. Of course they’ve noticed he’s been weird, recently.

So when his mother asks him to talk, he’s not surprised to find his father and his wife at the kitchen table, too, waiting for him like an intervention.

“What’s  _ wrong _ , Bren?” Astrid asks him, reading out to hold his hand. 

“What do you mean?” He feigns ignorance.

“You’ve not been yourself,” his mother chides, opposite of Astrid. “You haven’t been since Milo was ill several weeks ago.”

“We’re worried about you,” his father says. Caleb is still not used to the gray in his beard. “There’s a hole in the barn where it looks like someone punched it, and I think it was you.”

“We just want you to _talk_ to us,” his mother assures him. “If something is wrong, tell us, please.”

Nothing is wrong, he wants to say.

_ Everything  _ is wrong, he wants to say.

So instead, he bites his lip. “It’s a long story,” he tells them.

Astrid squeezes his hand. “We have the time.”

“I don’t know that you’ll believe me,” he tells them.

“You said that before,” his mother repeats. He inherited his sharp mind from her, he remembers suddenly. “But you won’t know that until you tell us.”

So, he does.

He tells them the story about a little boy who grew up on a farm, with two parents who loved him very much. He tells them about an invention to a magic school, that he got to attend with his two best friends. He tells them about his teacher who saw such progress in him and his friends that he was offered specialized training.

He tells them--although it’s difficult--about the fire. About the madness that came afterwards. He tells them about the kind woman wearing a holy symbol of the Archeart who managed to fix his mind.

He tells them about his escape. His arrest. Meeting a kind goblin in a jail cell. Meeting the greatest people he’s ever known in his life in a tavern in Trostenwald. He tells them about the adventures he’s had--not all of them, he doesn’t want to scare them--and he tells them about friendship, and love, and a family he got to build when he did not have another one to turn to. He tells them how the only thing he ever wanted, in all that time, was to make up for his previous mistakes.

He tells them about a friend for whom time was something of a specialty, and a gift he left him with, a chance to have everything he’s ever wanted.

“But I can’t keep pretending to be Bren,” Caleb shakes his head. “I’m not him. I never was. I lived a different life, made different choices, loved different people. I can’t keep stealing his life like this,” he holds his head down, ashamed. “I love you, all of you, but--”

“But you aren’t him,” his mother says softly.

She’s crying, now--they all are, actually--but he does not expect her to stand up and walk to him, to take his head to her chest and hold him, kissing his forehead sweetly. “You sweet child. You’ve suffered so much.”

He cries against her. “ _ Mutti _ ,” he whispers, and clings to her like he did when he saw her for the first time again, weeks ago. Like before, she simply holds him and lets him cry, sobbing worse than a little baby.

Astrid and his father are quiet, but he’s not terribly surprised by that.

When he finally manages to pull himself together, he pulls away from his mother, cheeks stained red with tearstains. “I know--I know I’m not your son--”

“ _ Bren _ ,” his mother chides. “You absolutely  _ are  _ my son. I may not have given birth to this version of you, but do not think for one instance that I do not love you just the same,” she pulls him closer to her once again. “I’m so sorry, that you’ve had to suffer alone for so long.”

“I wasn’t alone,” he sniffs. “Not at the end.”

“Were you afraid?” His mother asks, brushing back his hair. “Were you afraid we wouldn’t love you still? That we wouldn’t forgive you?”

“Why would you?” He asks, wiping his eyes on his sleeves. “I was responsible for your deaths. Who could forgive that? I am,” he breathes in deeply, trying to calm himself. “Beyond redemption.”

He does not realize his father has stood up until he feels a firm hand on his shoulders. “But  _ I  _ forgive you,” Leofric tells him, and Caleb cannot help but start sobbing again at his words. “And Una forgives you. And we might not have died here, but I cannot imagine a world in which the same isn’t true for them as it is for us. We love you, and we forgive you, and we are  _ proud _ of the man you’ve become.”

Caleb cannot bear to look at them: he buries his head in his mother’s arms and cries.

* * *

It takes a little while for them to calm down, but they manage, eventually.

Astrid is still holding his hand. “What happened to _my_ Bren?” she asks softly,  _ oh _ , and of course she’s upset. Her husband isn’t her husband after all. 

“He’s still here,” Caleb assures her, tapping his skull. “I have his memories, and his body, and his thoughts. His emotions,” he squeezes her hand back. “He--I love you and the boys, very much.”

She smiles at him sadly. “But if you go home--”

“I don’t know that I  _ can _ go home,” Caleb shakes his head. “I wasn’t the one who cast the spell that brought me here.”

“Better question,” his mother starts, staring at him with intense blue eyes. “Do you  _ want _ to go home?”

He pauses, frozen by the question. “I--” he bites at his lip. “Does it make me a terrible person if I say yes?”

“No,” his mother shakes her head softly. “Of course not. Like you said, you had a life there. Of course you want to go back to that life. No one here blames you for that.”

The hand that isn’t holding Astrid’s takes his mother’s hand, and squeezes it gently. “Even if it means going back to a world where you’re dead?”

“Even then,” his mother squeezes his hand, and kisses his forehead. “Moving on is forgivable, Br-- _Caleb_ ,” she calls him by the right name, and his heart warms hearing that name from her voice. “It’s called life, sweetheart. It’s all any of us can do.”

He blinks back tears, feeling exhausted, like he’s spent the entire day either out in the fields or cast every spell in his spellbook--he isn’t sure which is worse. “I don’t even know the spell Essek cast,” he explains quietly. “I’ve never seen it before.”

“But the person who cast it,” his father wonders. “He’s still here, right? In  _ this  _ universe?”

“He,” Caleb bites his lip. “I think so? He was in a different body when he teleported me here, same as me. But then he went back, and I don’t know what happened afterwards.”

“Seems easy enough then,” his mother brushes her hands on her apron. “We have to find this Essek fellow, make him cast that spell on you again. You go back to your timeline, Bren gets his body back, life returns to normal. We remember how blessed we are in this time, and you,” she runs her hand through his hair playfully. “Get to remember that we love you, still.”

“It may not be that simple,” he frowns. “Magic rarely is.”

“And if it isn’t, we’ll adjust,” his mother explains, as though life really is that simple for her. “I’m not saying things will be perfect, but we must do  _ something _ , Bren.”

“Besides, this wizard friend of yours, he can’t be too far, right? Rexxentrum?” His father guesses. “I can ride with you to Rexxentrum, and--”

“Oh. Er, no,” Caleb blushes slightly. “He wouldn’t be in Rexxentrum.”

His father blinks at him. “Where’s he from, then?”

“Ah,” Caleb rubs the back of his head. “Xhorhas?” he guesses, before remembering Essek was wearing his Shadowhand mantle when he teleported Caleb here. “Rosohna, specifically.”

Astrid bursts out into laughter, so stark and loud that it shocks one of the kittens, who howls and jumps off the table. “Of course he’s in  _ Xhorhas!”  _ She keeps laughing like a madwoman, tears streaming down her face. “Nothing is  _ ever  _ easy for us!”

She starts sobbing, and Caleb’s mother rushes to comfort her, wrapping her in a tight hug and letting her cry against her.

His father whispers to him. “Well, good news first: we aren’t at war with them any more. So that’s helpful.”

“Bad news?”

“I’m not sure how you’re supposed to get there,” his father frowns. “Xhorhas was--well, they were losing the war pretty badly before the peace talks. I don’t think it’ll be as easy as just crossing the border, you know?”

“If I could get my hands on a spellbook,” Caleb furrows his brow in thought. “I could teleport  _ directly  _ into Essek’s home. I wouldn’t need to sneak in or anything, I could just appear. And if he lets me explain what happened, I’m certain he could help me get back home.”

“And for a spellbook, we’d need to go to Rexxentrum,” Leofric nods at him. “I’ll start packing.”

Caleb blinks at his father. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’ve never been one to joke.”

“You can’t come with me to  _ Xhorhas _ \--”

“To Xhorhas? Nah,” his father agrees, shaking his head. “Sounds dangerous. And my knees aren’t what they used to be. But Rexxentrum?” His father smiles at him. “That’s a day away by cart. Of course I’m taking you there,” he squeezes Caleb’s shoulder warmly. “What kind of father would I be if I didn’t?”

Caleb blinks back tears; the last time his mother and father traveled with him to Rexxentrum, it was to drop him off at the Soltryce Academy so many years ago.

He hopes this trip has a happier ending, this time.


End file.
